Drown Within
by Josiyx
Summary: There's no way to stay above the surface of their emotions, if there are any, and those must be exploited. To be possessed is to feel, at least for him DemRox


With my AkuRoku muse on vacation for about a year now, and this sitting in my computer going 'post me, post me!', I figured I'd put it up for y'all. Hopefully it appeases you, and chances are there'll be more oneshots up in the next few weeks. please enjoy.

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Slender fingers were wrapped around his wrists. Long and tapered, perfect for playing an instrument or sewing a stitch, he watched the nails digging into the pale skin beneath, leaving pink lines where they touched. There was no urgency in the gesture, just a look of adoration that was as hollow as a bubble.

Lips were brushing his ear as the taller figure leant forward, grip tightening as the thin lips moved to speak. Every step back he'd made had pushed him closer to the wall, until his spine pressed against it. Sensing the impending rejection, the other had spoken; a taunt, a pause and a smile pulling the skin of the lips across his throat, too close to the carotid artery for comfort. "Aw, Roxas, don't you want to play a game? No fun," the voice whined, one hand dropping a wrist to reach lower.

A game, that's what they called it. Of course, with the company kept around the Castle, the Nobody could hardly be sane. Roxas had forgotten that after a few weeks wrapped in the world they lived in. Swimming in Atlantica, playing board games and joining Axel in all sorts of pranks had stifled that feeling of apprehension.

Not that they really could feel, but every one had created such a perfect sham that it was almost believable. Except the redhead, who never bothered with anything except rage and mockery.

The two blonds had been fast friends from the beginning, one learning how to express emotions the same way the other did, never realizing it was all an act. He'd fallen for the innocent looking smile, the way the care and adoration billowing off the taller Nobody were almost tangible. It should have occurred to him that none of it could be genuine, but in his desperation he'd taken it all in at face value.

He couldn't have been the first though. With the easy going personality and choir boy looks, the image was nearly real, truly cheerful on the surface. It was at least how he'd appeared to be. Appearances could honestly deceive, Roxas remembered blankly as a thin hand passed his cloak and pulled gently at his belt.

"C'mon Roxas, play with me. If you win, I'll even give you a prize." The lusty voice would have made any other person shudder, but the blond had no emotions. Instead, he had only the dull remembrance of fear and a sharp tug somewhere around where the warm hand was moving.

He remembered how his superiors had all had the chance to call a turn with him, breaking him in one by one, occasionally two by two. Xemnas and Saix pulling the first lot, the one with the eyepatch and the dreadlocks each after. The scientists from the basement passing him around like he imagined the ale in pirate stories had been.

It wasn't something he'd argued with, never even thinking to protest at the time. His limited understanding of the world was only just widening to hint that it might not always be that way, that it didn't have to be. Pain wasn't too bad when there was nothing else attached. No humiliation, misery, loneliness. Just pleasure some of the time. Almost like he was getting a good deal.

After those experiences, which had probably only taken a week, despite his lack of ways to tell time, he'd been faced down by the most dangerous of the bunch. The impressive, passionless fireball that was number VIII. Roxas had expected much the same, only much, much worse, steeling himself only to be clasped quickly on the shoulder, a passing greeting as the redhead had summoned chakrams and ordered him to fight.

Midway through their allotted time, dodging an attack and launching his own, he'd asked the question nagging from the start. "Why?"

The bark of a laugh had been shocking, though not as much as the answer. "You're just a piece of property to them kid. And personally, I don't want to lose my only real ally in this shithole for such small real estate."

It hadn't made sense, and thinking about it didn't either, though he knew it had to do with the way the thin digits were caressing his body. Even those progressively more inward thoughts were overwhelmed as the mouth and tongue traced patterns across his neck. A soft gasping acceptance left his throat as Demyx's tanned hand found what it was looking for. "Fine, I will."

"Good," the man who had never quite become a man murmured, loose movements of his hand moving below in a way that caused the newer one of their pack to shudder softly, "but I don't want to force you to." The unpreoccupied hand let go off the belt it held, palm sliding back up, past dark pants and out of the equally shaded jacket, cupping the round cheek stroking the partly opened cupid's bow waiting for an answer.

A harsh jerk of his hand brought the agreeance obviously wanted so much. "God, you know you aren't." Cornflower blue eyes staring as the almost soft eyes turned hard, as the jacket on his shoulders was dragged off, zipper causing a jagged marks on the pale arms it had helped cover, Roxas realized he'd broken one of the rules of their exchanges. One he was bound to be punished for.

"God has nothing to do with it," the taller, normally most polite and kind of all their heartless group, who hated fighting and was too weak to lift anything over five pounds according to rumour, lifted him off his feet by his neck, the hand palming him catching him with nails. Cut off from air by degrees, he found his mistake, the reason the entity was taboo.

They were the Devil's Advocates, doing what they should never have been able to do. Nosferatu who took hearts rather than blood and could not be stopped by the usual means. They were every nightmare creature put into one and set loose on every world a nightmare had been to, and some they had not. A scourge upon the earth that had never been asked for. Their uniforms -two of which were hitting the ground in a frenzied movement as their owners fought for dominance- represented the darkness they were born into. Light never fell on the damned.

He wanted to tell them it wasn't their fault, that they couldn't be blamed for being too strong to die and too weak to surrender to a higher authority. Their superiors in the ranks had wanted to be gods in their own right. Those that came later just wanted to go home. They lost as they won, so all thirteen went through power struggle after rivalry after mission to prove that they had gained something by being tough enough to survive. That they hadn't lost the war before the first battle.

That was why, later still, leaning against the wall in the empty hallway, a weak boy grasped for his coat, abandoned during the 'game' as a pair of sea green eyes watched his struggle. The silence continued a moment more, before a voice of false cheer spoke up. "I guess I win again, huh?" Deftly, he zipped up his own uniform, the grin curling into a sneer.

Blue eyes followed the movements dutifully, ragged breath finally coming long enough to whisper. "What? But-"

A finger jabbed at the place his heart would have been forcefully. "You still belong to me. No one else. You're mine, so don't forget it." Possessively, Demyx clutched messy locks of hair, tugging their owner to eye level. "I don't like traitors. I'll hurt you more than you can imagine, so don't betray me." Moving to seize the broken teen's lips, the movements forcefully possessive for the first time.

There wasn't much Roxas could do to argue with that. Exhausted physically, he couldn't escape, and when it went down to the core, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave.

Axel, the one who was, sadly, the kindest of them all, had only mentioned his 'meetings' with the others once. They all hinted about it, and all the implications of the end, but he'd kept his normally large mouth shut. After finding out Luxord had 'withdrawn' his request for alone time, along with number eleven and twelve. "I guess you're my ally now too, huh?" he'd asked solemnly, during a mission involving a lot of stabbing things. "Because, you know, he's never going to let you go if you try to leave. And you'll do whatever he asks, so you aren't alone."

Taking a look at the dumbfounded, frozen expression on the blond's face, he'd produced a popsicle from his coat, handed it over and walked away. They'd never discussed it again, but Roxas figured he was still right. "I could-"

"I'm going to Agrabah. Mission. Back later." The shallow breathing made the listener smile slightly, letting his grip on his captor's shoulders go before staring to the ground. This was how it always was. This was how it would always be.

'Winning' their personal game of chicken meant being the first to walk away. Sick as it was, and much as he denied it, Roxas needed this, more than a heart, more than a friend. He needed to be owned, to feel. Just for a bit.

So instead of playing to win, the blond just let himself fall to the ground, as Demyx turned his head and walked away, humming to himself seemingly already have forgotten. Innocent and happy was what it appeared to any omniscient observer, but Roxas knew better.

After all, when you were in the Castle that Never Was, overlooking the City that also Never Was, what else could the dark figure retreating be, but a Hero that Never could Be?

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Was it okay? Let me know!

- Josiy x


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